Real Monster
by orangekangaroo
Summary: Stiles was taken by a serial killer and tortured for a month before Derek and Scott rescue him. He's scared and has panic attacks and nightmares about what happened, and Derek and Scott try to help him. The pack does what they can for their hurt friend, but there are good days and bad days. Stiles heals with Derek, Scott, and a lot of cuddling as their relationship grows.
1. Chapter 1

Stiles couldn't open his eyes. He couldn't wake up to see that this was all a dream, that his rescue was a dream and he would wake up still strappedto that chair.

"Stiles, wake up. It's alright," A gruff voice filtered through the silence and Stiles obeyed, cracking his good eye open. The other was still wrapped in bandages.

He was met by the site of soft brown eyes staring into his own good one.

"Scott?" His voice was raspy and small, a far cry from his usual vigor. "You're real?"

Scott smiled sadly and looked more like a grimace. Stiles asked him the same question every time he woke up.

"Yeah, I'm real. I promise," Scott whispered. Stiles nodded, satisfied. His head swam with pain and exhaustion. Scott tightened his arms around his friend, and Stiles realized that Scott was sitting up against the headboard with Stiles between his legs. Stiles's sore back was bandaged and up against the solid warmth that was his best friend's chest. Stiles mumbled something before passing out again.

Scott blinked furiously to clear the tears from his eyes, unwilling to let go of his friend for even a second. He watched with blurry vision as his arm darkened with black veins of pain that he was pulling from his friend. It was like drawing the poison out of a wound, poison that never seemed to stop coming. Stiles sighed and fell deeper asleep as his pain receded for now. A soft knock on the door startled Scott and his eyes flashed red as he pulled Stiles even tighter to him. Derek stepped into the room slowly with his hands up at the sight of Scott's fading red eyes.

"Sorry," Scott whispered. Derek shrugged. "What did he do to him?"

Derek sighed, passing a hand over his face. He could still small Stiles's blood mixed with his tears and sweat and the dirty water his captor threw on him whenever he passed out. It had been a week and they couldn't seem to wash away the smell.

"I think the better question is what didn't he do?" Derek sat on the edge of the bed. Scott's brow was furrowed and sweaty from draining Stiles's pain, and it wasn't enough. "Electrical burns, lashes, bruises, cuts, broken fingers. Same as the others."

Scott squeezed his eyes shut.

He would never understand how another human could do this to someone. Stiles was no stranger to being kidnapped, being the only fully human member of a strange werewolf/supernatural creature pack.

But this time, there was nothing supernatural about what happened. No werewolves, banshees, hunters, berserkers, nothing. Just a man.

A man that had been terrorizing his victims for years, moving from small town to small town all over the country and avoiding the law every time they got close. Stiles had been the latest in a long string of victims, but he was the only one to survive.

The serial killer was not so lucky. Scott didn't kill humans.

Derek made sure he didn't have to.

The string of tortured, mutilated bodies would mysteriously stop now, and no one would ever know the truth. No one but two werewolves who would never tell a soul and a teenage boy too damaged to forget.

Stiles's face scrunched in pain, and Scott looked helplessly at Derek. He couldn't drain anymore from Stiles, it was too much. Derek reached out and gently touched Stiles where his neck met his shoulder. Immediately, black inky veins appeared on his arm as he soaked up Stiles's pain. Scott nodded gratefully, sagging into the pillows that propped him up. He checked Stiles for fever for what seemed like the hundredth time. The fever they had found him with had finally broken the night before, caused no doubt the horrifying conditions of the blood-soaked room they had found him in.

"Have you slept?" Derek asked. Scott shook his head. "You should."

"I can't leave him alone," Scott said, an edge of hysteria creeping into his voice. "I left him alone for a minute to take a shower and he freaked out."

Derek remembered hearing Stiles's panicked screams when Scott had finally left him to wash the blood off. Scott had felt horrible, and presumably hadn't left the bed for the remaining time.

It had been a week of sneaking out of the bed for quick bathroom breaks, having food brought to him, and barely closing his eyes in case Stiles woke up screaming and thrashing and struggling to get away from his nightmares. A week of remembering the way Stiles had flinched away from his touch when they found him strapped to a chair and covered in blood, fresh and old.

"I'll take him," Derek said softly. Scott looked like he wanted to protest. "Scott, you're the alpha. You need to be healthy. If you lose it, we all lose it." Derek knew it was a low blow to bring up Scott's responsibilities, but he see that it was working.

"I'll be back soon," Scott said, to whom Derek wasn't sure. He sat up carefully and held Stiles out to Derek. They clumsily switched places until Derek was sitting against the headboard, Stiles cradled gently in the V of his legs. He let the younger boy's head fall back against him, reclining more so that Stiles was laying flatter. He tucked the blankets around the still form as Scott stretched his stiff body. With one last look at his best friend and his second-in-command, he left the room. Derek ran his fingers carefully through Stiles's hair, checking the stitches that held together a gash on his head. They seemed to be healing well.

A small pile of books was on the floor by the bed, ones he assumed Lydia had left for Scott to read while he sat with Stiles. They hadn't been touched. Derek had to admit that the friendship between the two boys was beyond anything he had ever seen.

It didn't take long for him to reach for one though. He wasn't much for sitting quietly, even with such an important weight in his lap. He picked up a paperback, one that was worn and the spine cracked. He studied the cover and his mouth twitched in what Stiles once called his "closet thing to a smile you'll ever do", and opened to the first page. Stiles shifted in his sleep, turning his head to the side. Derek waited for him to wake up, and when he didn't, he began to read softly.

Stiles woke screaming.

**Always interested in feedback.**


	2. Chapter 2

_Stiles had given up on not screaming._

_He was chained by the wrists to the ceiling, his toes brushing the cement flooring beneath him. His shoulders were burning from holding his weight for too long. The whip cut into his back for the fifth time and Stiles screamed. Blood dripped down his back, staining his pants. It was agony._

_"What do you want?" Stiles shook his head, trying to remove the tears gathered in his eyes. As usual, there was no answer. There had been no answer for three days. No sound at all beyond the sounds made by the instruments of torture and his own screams. "Just tell me what you want!"_

_The whip was his only reply. He twisted, trying desperately to get away._

_"SCOTT!" Stiles screamed for his friend._

_His screams went unanswered._

* * *

><p>Stiles bolted up right screaming. Strong hands grasped at him and he struggled against them. He needed to get out, to get away. OUTOUTOUTOUTOUT! His brain was screaming at him to get out. He fell off the bed in his panic. The pain jolted his senses, and he stilled. His breathing slowed as he grappled for control of the panic in his chest.<p>

"Stiles?" A voice was close to him, behind him, and it was gentle. Stiles rolled over awkwardly to look at Derek, the familiar unsmiling face staring down at him from the bed. Four fingernail scratches were fading on his cheek. Stiles looked down and saw the blood on his fingernails.

"Sorry," Stiles whispered. Derek shrugged and joined him on the floor. He reached for the ever present first-aid kit and found some alcohol wipes to clean Stiles's hand. Stiles was quiet while Derek gently cleaned his finger nails and then checked his other wounds. One bandage on his arm needed to be replaced because a cut had reopened. Derek was unnerved by how quiet the usually boisterous boy was being.

"Do you want to go back to bed?" Derek asked, rubbing Stiles's shoulder. Stiles thought for a moment.

"Will you read to me?" Stiles asked quietly, flushing and looking away. Derek took his chin and guided his un-bandaged eye back to his own.

"Of course," Derek helped Stiles stand, taking all of his weight. Three of the bones in Stile's right foot were broken. Derek wanted to kill that bastard again. He situated them the same way, with Stiles in his lap and laying back on him. Derek picked up the book he had been reading and returned to page one. "Is The Call of the Wild alright?"

"Isn't that like your family history?" Stiles joked halfheartedly. Derek winced inwardly at the forced, tired sound of Stiles's voice, but he nudged Stiles lightly.

"Shut up." Then he began to read. Stiles relaxed against him and pulled the covers around him more. Stiles knew he was damaged. He was scared now, skittish around more than one person at a time unless it was Scott and Derek. His voice was still recovering, his vocal chords sore and cracking.

The silence suffocated him. He needed noise, he needed voices. When Derek had touched his cheek with clawed hands that showed such gentleness, the werewolf couldn't have known how much this one touch meant to him. The first touch in a month that wasn't in violence, didn't cause pain. And then Scott was there, babbling on and on about how he was safe now, no one would hurt him anymore, and so on. But not before he heard one phrase clearly.

"What did he do to his eye?" Scott had sounded near hysterical.

It was so loud.

It wasn't too loud anymore.

Derek's voice was warm and comforting, and he felt the vibrations in Derek's chest rumble through his back. One of Derek's hands had found its way to his hair and was stroking it slowly, as if he were a puppy. Stiles was listening to his voice when the door cracked open and Scott slipped in the room. He saw Stiles and Derek on the bed and joined them, lying on his side next to them. Stiles reached out a hand and Scott took it, stroking the uninjured parts carefully. His index finger and middle finger were broken, as was his pinky, but Scott was gentle. He still saw the way Stiles had cried when he reset the poorly healed bones. The cracking sounds they had made haunted him.

Stiles's eye was closing, but Scott made Derek pause. Stiles needed to take his pain medication and his antibiotics. Stiles had cried and panicked when they asked if he wanted to go to the hospital. Scott's mom had gotten them what they needed from the hospital. It would have been difficult to explain how they found him, why he was so injured, and what had happened to the culprit.

Stiles laid back, his head resting on Derek's chest, and the effects of the pills kicked in. His eye drooped and he fell asleep. Scott curled around his two bedmates with a tired sigh and Derek wrapped an arm around him as well. Scott was the alpha, powerful and wise beyond his years. But he was also just a kid, a kid dealing with things so far beyond him it was amazing he hadn't gone insane already. Scott crumbled, his silent sobs shaking his well-built frame, and Derek did his best to keep hold of his book with one hand, hold Scott with the others, and continue reading. He stopped reading when he felt the shift in Stiles, his was in REM sleep. Scott was sniffling next to him, latched like a leech to Derek's side with an arm thrown over Stiles.

"He's not ok, is he?" Scott asked haltingly.

"No. But he's trying," Derek replied, stroking Stiles's hair. "He wants to be, but he can't. Not yet."

"He's trying so hard to be strong and he doesn't have to be," Scott nuzzled Stiles's neck, breathing the still-slightly-wrong smell of his friend.

"Would you expect anything else from him?" Derek knew why Scott was so affected. "It isn't your fault. This isn't something you could have protected him from."

"Does he know?" Scott asked after some silence, gesturing as his face. Derek tensed.

"He hasn't asked," Derek finally replied, touching the bandage around Stile's eye carefully. It was the only thing they had discussed going to the hospital for. "I didn't know what to say."

"I can always tell what he's thinking by his eyes," Scott mumbled. "I mean, I could."

"And now?"

Scott was silent. His eyes were still puffy and bloodshot, and dark circles ringed them. He couldn't have slept for more than two hours. Derek picked up the book and began to read again, occasionally looking at his alpha. Scott eyes were heavy, and they stayed shut longer each time he blinked. Finally, they closed and stayed closed. Derek put the book down and tucked the sleeping boy closer into his side, careful not to jostle the one in his lap. He looked at his two charges, two boys that seemed to reach out for each other's contact even in sleep. One, the damaged, broken boy who had never backed down. The other, the young leader drowning in guilt.

They were so young.

But now, their eyes were too old.

He felt the protective instincts of his wolf rising, and knew his eyes had just flashed blue. Scott might not need his protection, but he was going to have to deal with it. As for Stiles, if he had to let the boy scratch his face every night until he slept without nightmares, he would do it gladly. Scott would too, but it was going to break him if he had to do it alone, Derek knew that. He wasn't the alpha anymore, but he was the eldest. And as the eldest, he would protect his friends. His only friends.

Derek stayed this way for what felt like hours, but wasn't that long in reality.

Stiles woke screaming.


	3. Chapter 3

_The teeth of the clamps bit down on Stiles's fingers painfully. He was trembling uncontrollably, a gag shoved in between his teeth. His heart was racing and he was beginning to panic. A clicking sound was his only warning before molten heat ripped through his body. His muscles spasmed and locked and he bit down on the gag so hard that he would have cracked his teeth if the gag wasn't there._

_He couldn't even scream._

_The voltage was higher this time. He was certain he would die._

_The electricity shut off, leaving Stiles panting and sagging into the chair he was strapped to. The leather straps around his wrists and ankles were biting into him hard enough to leave deep bruises, and his right wrist was bleeding where it had broken the skin. Tears trickled down his face leaving tracks in the dirt and blood that had accumulated there. His skin was damp and clammy in the cold air, and his heaving breaths were the only sound in the room._

_He hadn't heard another voice in two weeks._

_His body was weakening, sustained by enough water and food to keep him alive but not to help him heal. The deeper wounds were bandaged, some even crudely sewn shut to stop him from bleeding to death. He could smell his own coppery blood, and other smells he couldn't bring himself to focus on._

_But it was harder to wake up now, even with the water being thrown on him._

_The electricity flipped on again._

"Stiles, wake up," Derek shook him slightly. Stiles had started mumbling in his sleep, a warning sign of a particularly bad nightmare that Derek had picked up on in the two weeks that Stiles had been in his loft. Stiles opened his eyes and groped his hands out clumsily as if pushing against something. Derek waited for Stiles to calm down, whispering into his ear that he was safe, that he was still here in Derek's loft. Scott was there too, looking on with the same worried expression that seemed stuck there.

Stiles settled back against Derek and sighed. He was still so tired even though all he seemed to do now was sleep and listen to his friends read to him like a child. But the smell of blood lingered in his nose from his dream, and he was suffocating in the small room. He needed to get out.

"Do you want to clean up?" Scott asked from the side. Stiles didn't question the way Scott always seemed to read his mind. He was too grateful that he didn't have to ask to care. Derek helped Stiles sit up, placing his hands gingerly to avoid pressing any injuries. Scott helped Stiles stand up with an arm around his friend's waist and one steadying his shoulder. Derek took the other side, offering his arm to Stiles in a way that reminded the teenager of an old-timey gentleman courting a lady. Usually, the thought would have made him smile and say something sarcastic.

The odd little trio made their way to the bathroom where Stiles sat on the toilet. Derek left after having a hushed conversation with Scott, and Scott turned around to face his friend. Stiles was hunched, small, different from the boy who always took up as much space as possible with flailing limbs and endless energy. Scott helped Stiles strip and then stripped down to his boxers as well. Even if Stiles wasn't too out of it to be embarrassed, he wouldn't be. Lacrosse and a friendship spanning to elementary school had eliminated that. Scott tried not to stare at the criss-crossing bandages on his friend's body and helped Stiles into the warm spray of water, sitting him down on the plastic chair they had put in there for him. He couldn't stand on his broken foot and it was easier for Scott to help him wash if he wasn't also supporting his weight.

Stiles relaxed as the water touched his skin, washing away the days. Scott started to sing pop music, badly, as he always did in the shower. Stiles had often told he sounded terrible, but it filled the silence with welcome noise. Scott was washing his hair with the shampoo that Stiles liked, rubbing and massaging his scalp with heavenly fingers, when Stiles finally spoke.

"Who's song is that?"

Scott paused. Stiles didn't usually say much.

"I think it was One Direction," He said after he thought for a bit.

"Maybe you should let them sing it," Stiles twisted to look at Scott, a ghost of a smile on his face. Scott smiled at him.

"Don't judge me, it's catchy," Scott replied as he angled the shower head to wash away the suds. His heart constricted with sadness and hope. Derek was right, Stiles was trying to be better. It was a tiny step, but it was there. Stiles suddenly reached back and grabbed Scott's hand with his own.

"Thank you," Stiles whispered. Scott cocked his head to the side. "I can't remember if I said it when you...then. And for everything."

"You don't have to thank me, Stiles," Scott admonished lightly.

Stiles nodded and squeezed Scott's hand as much as his broken fingers would allow.

"Scott?"

"Yeah?"

"I can't play lacrosse with you anymore," Stiles touched the bandage around his eye. "Can I?"

Scott froze. He knew that Stiles was going to ask eventually, but after two weeks of silence on the subject he was half-hoping the Stiles hadn't noticed.

"No, I guess not."

Stiles nodded and fell silent again. His shoulders started to shake and Scott quickly came around to his front and Stiles wrapped his arms around Scott's waist, burying his face in his friend's stomach as a panic attack swept over him. Scott held him close, stroking his hair and trying to comfort him through his own tears.

"Hey, it's alright. I'll help you, we'll practice every day until you don't even notice anymore. Breathe with me, hey, come on. Breathe," Scott held his friend closer, sinking to his level. He cupped his hands around the bandaged face, "Hear me?"

Stiles nodded, but he couldn't seem to stop.

"Derek?" Scott called. Derek entered the room and saw Scott being held tightly by Stiles, and Scott pointing at the sink. They kept inhalers in every room of the house now, and Derek grabbed the one they kept in the bathroom out of the drawer and handed it to Scott.

Scott encouraged Stiles to take a few puffs and the boy's frantic heart rate and labored breathing finally slowed. Derek stood awkwardly to the side, watching Stiles pull himself together with all of his will. It was amazing, really. Derek had been outside the door, waiting, pacing, and listening. He had felt uncomfortable being too far away from his guests, and had ended up just waiting for them. Hearing Stiles finally ask about his eye had made his chest hurt, the physical manifestation of sorrow. Stiles collapsed in on himself, slumping in the chair. Derek reached in a turned off the water.

When they had gotten Stiles dry and clothed and re-bandaged,they tucked him into bed. Stiles was drowsy and fell asleep with his pain medication circulating in his blood. Scott and Derek both laid down either side of Stiles. Derek's chest was to Stiles's back, and Scott was facing Stiles, holding his hands and stroking them with small circles. Stiles had taken to sleeping on his side sometimes, sandwiched in between them this way, as his wounds healed. Derek rubbed his nose into Stiles's neck, sniffing him. Scott watched him, fascinated. Two years ago, Derek would have never done something like this.

Stiles smelled like himself now. Not so...wrong.

There was no screaming when Stiles woke.

He woke crying.

The werewolves didn't know if this was step forward.

They hoped it was.


	4. Chapter 4

_He started hearing Scott's voice three weeks into his torture. He was sitting in the loathed chair, head hanging to his chest, mindlessly observing his shredded clothes. He was covered in blood, and the smell of copper was overpowering his sense of smell. He hadn't eaten for hours, and the intervals between the food he was given seemed to stretch longer than before. But he couldn't be sure anymore._

_**Stiles.**_

_Stiles squeezed his eyes closed against the tears. He didn't want to hear the voice again, open his eyes just to find empty air like he had so many times._

_**Stiles.**_

_At first, hearing Scott's voice had seemed like a gift. But it was a curse. It was a reminder that he was losing his grip on reality._

_**Hold on, Stiles.**_

_Stiles couldn't stop his eyes from opening only to be met not with the sight of his best friend, but his captor. Stiles began to cry in earnest, not loudly, but in soundless agony. He had stopped pleading for the man to say something to him, anything, just to hear a real voice again. The burn of alcohol stung his bicep, and its smell briefly filled his nose. He could feel a needle sliding into his flesh, the thread pulling his flesh together. He hissed as more alcohol was poured over the newly stitched wound. The man walked away, leaving no doubt to retrieve some new form of torture._

_He hated the man for many thing, but none more than this. The first aid that kept him alive._

_**Stiles, hold on.**_

_"Shut up, Scott," Stiles whispered. His voice was ruined. "Oh, God, I'm talking to myself."_

_**Just a little longer. **_

_"I can't," Stiles suddenly leaned forward as much as he could, dry-heaving as a panic attack loomed on the horizon._

_**Hold on, Stiles.**_

_Stiles didn't reply. He was mostly convinced they wouldn't hear him._

Stiles woke to a dark room. The air was still and silent aside from the sound of the outside world, muted and softened by the walls and the comforter he had drawn around himself. He reached up with his still-bandaged fingers and felt the moisture on his cheeks. At least he hadn't woken with screams still tearing themselves from his throat. The first time he had woken without screaming, two days before, he had seen the hopeful look on Scott and Derek's faces. He couldn't help the small flame of hope that burned in him too, that maybe he was getting better.

He had screamed himself awake the next morning, but not tonight.

Scott muttered something and nuzzled himself closer to Stiles's back, pulling his best friend closer. Stiles let himself wonder when Scott had become more of an octopus than even him. He could feel Derek's weight in front of him making the mattress dip down.

Both were soundly asleep, exhausted from taking care of Stiles, he knew. It had been a rough night before with little sleep to go around.

Stiles looked over to the window. The moon was nearly full, and the sky was brightly lit. Stiles managed to somehow get himself disentangled from Scott and climb over Derek without too much pain and without waking either werewolf. He limped his way out of the room and to the living room where the moon was shining in front of the window. He sat on the floor and just looked.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there quietly, lost in his own thoughts, until a blanket was wrapped around his shoulders. Scott sat down beside him and looked at the moon with him. Stiles pulled the warm blanket around him tightly and scooted over until he could rest his head on Scott's shoulder.

"Why do you always ask me if I'm real?" Scott asked softly. He had to know why Stiles only asked him and not Derek.

"I heard your voice," Stiles mumbled after a few minutes passed. "You kept telling me to hold on. That you were coming to get me."

Stiles couldn't see Scott's face, but he felt Scott tense slightly before relaxing again almost as quickly.

"It was like you were standing right in front of me. But you were never there when I opened my eyes," Stiles took a shaky breath. "Over and over, I would hear your voice and at first I knew that it wasn't real. But...after awhile, it was easier to give in to the delusion."

Scott was silent as he rested his chin on Stiles's head. Stiles could feel Scott trembling.

"But then, I opened my eyes...eye, and you were there. Really there."

Scott still didn't reply. They sat in silence again, both ignoring that they knew the other was crying. Stiles's eyes were getting heavy and Scott's head was nodding when Derek found them. He took in the sight before him, the comfortable way the boys fit together better than most romantic partners did. He turned and headed back to his bedroom. Scott was asleep when he got back, and Stiles wasn't far behind. It was almost three in the morning, only three hours after Scott had finally succumbed to his exhaustion. He briefly wondered why Stiles had woken, but beyond sadness and salt, he couldn't smell any lingering traces of the terror that usually went along with his worst nightmares.

Stiles was just about to force himself to stand and somehow get Scott back to bed without waking him when he heard the soft thumps of pillows and blankets being dumped in a pile next to him. He turned his head and looked at Derek blearily. Derek continued his work, constructing a nest of sorts around them out of the supplies he had brought. Stiles carefully laid Scott down so his head was on a pillow and carefully turned him onto his side so he could spoon around him. A warm weights settled behind him, and Derek pulled himself close to Stiles so he was snug against the boy. Stiles shifted slightly until he was perfectly comfortable in his cocoon of werewolf.

Scott grasped the hand that Stiles had draped over him and pulled it tighter around him without waking up, and Stiles last thought before he drifted off was that Scott looked much happier when he was asleep.

Scott was conscious of warm arms around him, and he let himself float in the space between awake and asleep for awhile because it had been a long time since he felt this relaxed.

Not since he had found Stiles...

His eyes fluttered open and were greeted by blinding sunlight. He groaned and closed them again, rolling over to escape the light.

"It's alive," Stiles quipped. Scott pushed him lightly and stood, stretching his muscles. His back would have protested sleeping on the hard ground in the past, but the advantages of being a werewolf had included the ability to sleep anywhere. Derek was already up and moving around. If the smell of slightly burnt bacon was anything to go by, he was attempting to cook breakfast. He helped Stiles stand and helped him limp over to the kitchen area.

Stiles was gaining weight. Scott could still feel his bones a little too much when his friend leaned into him, but they didn't stab him anymore. They didn't stretch Stiles's pale skin over them to show every hollow and dip with enhanced detail. Now, he was beginning to look like himself.

Maybe the rest would follow along eventually. Not quickly, and not all at once. Some days he would take a step forward, and some days he would take two steps back. But Scott was determined.

Because this morning, Stiles woke smiling.

**Thank you so much for the feedback so far. Not to prostrate myself, but I hope you like the direction.**


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